Earthly Remains (Guido Brunetti Series #26)

by Donna Leon Narrated by David Colacci

Overview

Donna Leon's bestselling mystery novels set in Venice have won a multitude of fans for their insider's portrayal of La Serenissima. From family meals to coffee bars, and from vaporetti rides to the homes and apartments of Venetians, the details and rhythms of everyday life are an integral part of this beloved series. But so are the suffocating corruption, the never-ending influx of tourists, and crimes big and small. Through it all, Leon's Commissario Guido Brunetti has been an enduring figure. A good man who loves his family and his city, Brunetti is relentless in his pursuit of truth and some measure of justice. In Earthly Remains, the twenty-sixth novel in this series, Brunetti's endurance is tested more than ever before. During an interrogation of an entitled, arrogant man suspected of giving drugs to a young girl who then died, Brunetti acts rashly, doing something he will quickly come to regret. In the fallout, he realizes that he needs a break, needs to get away from the stifling problems of his work. When Brunetti is granted leave from the Questura, his wife, Paola, ships him off to a villa owned by a wealthy relative on Sant'Erasmo, one of the largest islands in the laguna. There he intends to pass his days rowing, and his nights reading Pliny's Natural History. The recuperative stay goes according to plan until Davide Casati, the caretaker of the house on Sant'Erasmo, goes missing following a sudden storm. Now, Brunetti feels compelled to investigate, to set aside his leave of absence and understand what happened to the man who had become his friend. Earthly Remains is quintessential Donna Leon, a powerful addition to this enduring series.

Editorial Reviews

The Barnes & Noble Review

Twenty-six novels ago, Donna Leon, who grew up in New Jersey, stumbled upon her life's work in Venice. "I was at La Fenice opera house back in 1991 with friends," Leon told me in a 2009 interview, "and we started talking about a conductor whom none of us liked. Somehow there was an escalation and we started talking about how to kill him. This struck me as a good idea for a book. It took about a year, and after it was finished it sat in a drawer because I've never really had any ambition. I was always pretty shiftless in my life. But I entered Death at La Fenice in a contest, it won, I got a contract for two books, then two more and so it went." Decades later, a shiftless Leon is hard to imagine. Aside from writing a novel a year, she has a doctorate in eighteenth-century literature and a passion for Baroque opera, with which she is involved as a writer and a company director. To her readers, of course, she is above all the creator of Commisario Guido Brunetti, the complex and empathetic Venetian investigator who remains the fulcrum of her series.

Brunetti first appeared in Death at La Fenice, where his presence seems slight — perhaps because the plot is one of Leon's busiest. An obnoxious conductor, Maestro Helmut Wellauer, is found poisoned to death, and the subsequent drama unfolds with operatic brio. There is a tempestuous soprano, a vengeful wife, a horribly wronged mistress, plenty of nasty (as well as Nazi) secrets, and lots of good old comeuppance. Yet no player is a caricature and no plot twist is excessive. Leon's psychological acuity, sly wit, and artistic restraint both deepen and darken a novel that is, like all enduring crime fiction, a study of character as much as crime. And though the titles of Leon's three subsequent novels — Death in a Strange Country, Dressed for Death, and Death and Judgment — suggested a series that would proceed with mechanical predictability, the opposite has been true. Almost without exception, each installment in the Brunetti series is substantial and self-sufficient. For within the city of Venice and with a familiar cast of characters — Brunetti's wife, Paola, and her aristocratic family, his friend and colleague Vianello, his insufferable boss, Patta, and the incomparable Signorina Elettra — Leon constructs elegant dramas around dense matters such as political, military or Vatican corruption, the victimization of immigrants, organized crime, environmental crime, and even New Age hucksterism.

The action begins, invariably, with a body. "He latched his fingers around the strands and pulled gently . . . As he backed up one step it floated closer, and the silk spread out and wrapped itself around his wrist." This is Brunetti in The Girl of His Dreams, pulling a dead Roma child out of a canal. And here he is in Earthly Remains: "At first, Brunetti looked to one side of the rope, then steeled himself and looked at it and what was below: the top of a head, a shoulder, the other, and then the chest of the man . . . bobbing and turning in the water." The drowned man, David Casati, is an elderly widower, beekeeper, and fisherman who knew Brunetti's father. Casati is also the caretaker of the villa where Brunetti recuperates following an incident during an interrogation that makes him question his judgment and feel his age. "I can't stand it any longer, doing what I do," he confesses to his wife. Later, a doctor identifies Brunetti's ailment as "Your work. The need to do something when you can do nothing."

The physician could be addressing Henning Mankell's detective Kurt Wallender or, closer to home, Michael Dibdin's Venetian investigator Aurelio Zen. After all, what fictional detective does not despair? Certainly Brunetti, like his native city, is repeatedly engulfed: by sadness, by humanity. And never more so than in Earthly Remains, which briefly transports him to an idyllic island ("Brunetti awoke in Paradise") with Pliny to read and with Casati as his guide on the water. But even paradise is not what it used to be.

"Everywhere, we've built and dug and torn up," Casati rages. " We've poisoned it all, killed it all." His bees are dying. Soon he is dead, perhaps murdered. And Brunetti is back in harness, but for how much longer? Earthly Remains, for all its murkiness and skullduggery, is the most elegiac of Leon's novels; it feels like a farewell. In one scene, for example, Brunetti, Vianello, and Casati's bereaved daughter sit "in silence for a moment, three Venetians, relatives at the wake of a city that had been an empire and was now selling off the coffee spoons to pay the heating bill." Maybe so, but Leon will always bring this city back to life.

Anna Mundow, a longtime contributor to The Irish Times and The Boston Globe, has written for The Guardian, The Washington Post, and The New York Times, among other publications.

Reviewer: Anna Mundow

The New York Times Book Review - Marilyn Stasio

When she's writing about her beloved Venice, Donna Leon can do no wrong. And Earthly Remains, her new mystery featuring Commissario Guido Brunetti, is one of her best. It's also one of her saddest, dealing as it does with the seemingly unstoppable polluting of the great lagoon.

Publishers Weekly

02/13/2017
Bestseller Leon’s enticing 26th Commissario Guido Brunetti mystery (after 2016’s The Waters of Eternal Youth) finds the Venetian policeman at headquarters one hot July day, questioning an arrogant lawyer accused of drugging a young woman he met at a party who subsequently died. When Brunetti has a heart seizure during this contentious interview, he winds up in the hospital. Prescribed complete rest, he later takes his wife’s suggestion of staying at a villa on a sparsely inhabited island in the Venetian Lagoon. There he befriends Davide Casati, the villa’s caretaker and a keeper of bees, some of which are mysteriously dying. Then, during a fierce storm, Davide disappears. Brunetti undertakes a search that leads to the discovery of his friend’s body and boat. Was Davide’s death an accident? He had been grief stricken since his wife’s death, Brunetti learns, and recently remorseful over the demise of his beloved bees. Along the way to the poignant ending, Brunetti develops insights into nature and humankind’s failure to protect it, as well as the nature of guilt and its role in a man’s life. Agent: Susanna Bauknecht, Diogenes Verlag (Switzerland). (Apr.)

From the Publisher

Praise for Earthly Remains:

A New York Times Bestseller
A New York Times Top Ten Crime Novel of 2017
A New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice
National Post Best Books of the Year
An Amazon Best Book of the Month (Mystery)

“When she’s writing about her beloved Venice, Donna Leon can do no wrong. And Earthly Remains, her new mystery featuring Commissario Guido Brunetti, is one of her best . . . [A] socially aware and intensely felt series . . . Leon . . . once again earn[s] the gratitude of her devoted readers.”—Marilyn Stasio, New York Times Book Review

“Donna Leon’s novels about Venetian detective Guido Brunetti never disappoint, and Earthly Remains is no exception . . . [A] gentle, elegiac tale.”—Adam Woog, Seattle Times (April’s Best Crime Fiction)

“As deftly as Leon weaves mysterious past and shocking present, this leisurely paced book’s greatest rewards, as is usually the case with her work, are reflective . . . [Brunetti] is, through thick and thin, great company—and a pretty good crime solver as well.”—Lloyd Sachs, Chicago Tribune

“You become so wrapped up in these compelling characters, that I think you could go through all 25 [Commissario Guido Brunetti mysteries] this summer . . . Each one is better than the last.”—Louise Erdrich, PBS Newshour

“Like the foregoing Guido Brunetti novels, Earthly Remains is a rewarding novel. The descriptions of the Venice laguna and its islands are enticing, the character of Guido is drawn with finer detail, and the tale it tells is of the most serious import.”—Washington Times

“Donna Leon introduced Commissario Guido Brunetti in 1992’s Death at La Fenice, and readers around the globe have been grateful ever since . . . [In] Earthly Remains . . . Leon masterfully weaves several plot threads and takes the reader through the labyrinth of Venetian life that has nothing do with sipping a cappuccino on the Piazza San Marco.”—Bay Area Reporter

“Reading Leon is like sitting down with old friends for the most satisfying of dinners, replete of course with well-chosen wines . . . Leon is a wonderful writer, the sentences as beautifully crafted as the puparin Casati’s father had long ago built. You feel the sodden heat of a Venetian summer, the crowds marching like ants across the Rialto Bridge, the sting of Guido’s sunburn and his rage at the corruption that ruins life for everybody. The Italians don’t know what they’re missing.”—Arts Desk

“Leon knows her world intimately, yet never overloads the reader with research. She shows only the tip of her iceberg, confident in the richness that lurks underneath. The cast is small but memorable. The square miles she covers are few but exploding with life—at least where humans have yet to quash it.”—Howard Shrier, National Post

“Leon’s multifaceted portrait of a man overburdened with human tragedy emerges forcefully here, as the lagoon itself, beautiful on the surface but containing the seeds of its own destruction, stands as a gripping metaphor for the bad choices and intractable dilemmas that infect us all . . . Leon[’s] . . . novels, with their unparalleled evocation of landscape and sensitivity to character, have attracted an audience that encompasses fiction readers of all kinds.”—Booklist (starred review)

“A vacation for your own soul.”—Kirkus Reviews

“Showcasing the stark contrast between Venice’s organic beauty and the decay that centuries of neglect and overindulgence have laid upon it, Earthly Remains delicately captures the tension that modern Italians face . . . Mystery readers who enjoy a little philosophical introspection are sure to love this latest entry in a delightful series perfect for fans of Henning Mankell or Louise Penny.”—Shelf Awareness

“Bestseller Leon’s enticing 26th Commissario Guido Brunetti mystery . . . Along the way to the poignant ending, Brunetti develops insights into nature and humankind’s failure to protect it, as well as the nature of guilt and its role in a man’s life.”—Publishers Weekly

“The 26th entry in Leon’s outstanding ‘Commissario Guido Brunetti’ series is one of her best . . . Fans of Leon’s early novels will find much to enjoy in the depictions of Venice and of the loving relationship between Brunetti and his family.”—Library Journal

“Step into the gondola and glide along the romantic Venetian canals . . . Another extraordinary adventure with Commissario Brunetti.”—AudioFile

“Earthly Remains, the 26th installment of this quietly beloved series, is the best of a wonderful lot . . . Leon’s character development and scene-setting are so strong and interesting that the story just moves right along without a bump or hitch . . . There are few reading joys that equal cracking the binding of a new Leon novel and experiencing another meeting with Brunetti . . . If you have not experienced this world, so exotic and yet so familiar, you can pick up literally any volume in the series and begin a comfortable entry into Brunetti’s Venice. Earthly Remains, however, would be a superlative place to start.”—BookReporter.com

“[Leon] delivers a twist on the mystery formula. Another great read, filled with the atmospheric delights of the region.”—Brenda Repland, Eyes on World Cultures

Library Journal

06/01/2017
The 26th entry in Leon's outstanding "Commissario Guido Brunetti" series is one of her best. Here, there is an elegiac tone to the plot, as Brunetti is on leave from the force, recovering from an ostensible heart attack. But even the peaceful island of Sant'Erasmo in the Venetian lagoon is not immune to acts of violence, and Brunetti is drawn into the mystery of the murder of a man he's recently befriended. VERDICT Fans of Leon's early novels will find much to enjoy in the depictions of Venice and of the loving relationship between Brunetti and his family. (LJ 3/15/17)

Kirkus Reviews

2017-02-02
Commissario Guido Brunetti, taking two weeks away from the Venetian Questura for complete rest and solitude, gets both more and less solitude than he bargained for and about the same amount of rest as when he's home.An impetuous inspiration about how to save a subordinate from embarrassment ends up sending Brunetti to the hospital, where he's diagnosed with high stress and urged to take some time off. His thoughtful wife, Paola, comes up with the perfect retreat: a villa her aunt owns on the nearby island of Sant'Erasmo. Packing four volumes of the classics, Brunetti (The Waters of Eternal Youth, 2016, etc.) prepares to soothe his soul by doing something physical by day and reading Pliny by night. The something physical he prescribes himself is rowing with Davide Casati, the villa's 70-something custodian, who, to Brunetti's delight, turns out to be an old friend of his father. But Casati is haunted by sadness over his dead wife, a mysterious ailment that's killing the bees he keeps and loves, and a secret he's not willing to confess even to his old friend's son. "Do you think some of the things we do can never be forgiven?" he asks Brunetti enigmatically, shortly before the Commissario finds him drowned beneath his overturned boat. It's an accident, of course, but Brunetti's keen judgment, which never takes a day off, is convinced that the timing of Casati's death is anything but coincidental and sets out to find—not the person who killed him (fans of this highly regarded series will know better than to expect much drama in this revelation) but the reason he died. Perhaps the most minimal of all Leon's mysteries, with no suspects to speak of and few details of the Commissario's domestic life or his eternal professional tussles at the Questura. Think of this barely-a-case as a vacation for your own soul.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940171140885
Publisher:	Recorded Books, LLC
Publication date:	04/04/2017
Series:	Guido Brunetti Series , #26
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

After an exchange of courtesies, the session had gone on for another half-hour, and Brunetti was beginning to feel the strain of it. The man across from him, a 42-year-old lawyer whose father was one of the most successful – and thus most powerful – notaries in the city, had been asked to come in to the Questura that morning after having been named by two people as the man who had offered some pills to a girl at a party in a private home two nights before.

The girl had washed them down with a glass of orange juice reported also to have been given to her by the man now sitting opposite Brunetti. She had collapsed some time later and had been taken to the emergency room of the Ospedale Civile, where her condition had been listed as 'Riservata'.

Antonio Ruggieri had arrived punctually at ten and, as apparent evidence of his faith in the competence and probity of the police, had not bothered to bring another lawyer with him. Nor had he complained about the heat in the one-windowed room, though his eyes had paused for a moment on the fan standing in the corner, doing its best – and failing – to counteract the muggy oppression of the hottest July on record.

Brunetti had apologized for the heat in the room, explaining that the ongoing heatwave had forced the Questura to choose between using its reduced supply of energy for the computers or for air conditioning and had chosen the former. Ruggieri had been gracious and had said only that he'd remove his jacket if he might.

Brunetti, who kept his jacket on, had begun by making it amply clear that this was only an informal conversation to provide the police with more background information about just what had happened at the party.

Registering this bumbling commissario's badly disguised admiration for the stature of Ruggieri's family, the famous people in the city who were their clients and friends, and the circle of wealth and ease in which Ruggieri travelled by right, it had taken the lawyer little time to lapse into easy condescension towards the older man.

Because the officer sitting next to Commissario Brunetti was wearing a uniform, Ruggieri ignored him, though he kept his sensors active to ensure that the younger man responded in a manner proper to the speech of his elders and betters. When the young man failed to react adequately to his self-effacing superiority, the lawyer ceased to use the plural when addressing the two men.

'As I was saying, Commissario,' Ruggieri went on, 'it was a friend's birthday party: we've known one another since we were at school.'

'Did you know many people there?' Brunetti asked.

'Practically all of them: most of us have been friends since we were children.'

'And the girl?' Brunetti asked with faint confusion.

'She must have come with one of the invited guests. There's no other way she could have got in.' Then, to show Brunetti how he and his friends safeguarded their privacy, he added, 'One of us always keeps an eye on the door to see who comes, just in case.'

'Indeed,' Brunetti said with a nod of agreement, and in response to Ruggieri's glance, added, 'That's always best.' He reached forward to push the upright microphone a bit closer to Ruggieri.

'Do you have any idea whom she might have come with, if I might ask?'

It took Ruggieri a moment to answer. 'No. I didn't see her talking to anyone I know.'

'How was it that you started to talk to her?' Brunetti asked.

'Oh, you know how it is,' Ruggieri said. 'Lots of people dancing or standing around. One minute I was alone, watching the dancers, and the next thing I knew, she was standing beside me and asking me my name.'

'Did you know her?' Brunetti asked, in his best old-fashioned, slightly puzzled voice.

'No,' Ruggieri said emphatically. Then he added, 'And she used "tu" when she spoke to me.'

Brunetti shook his head in apparent disapproval, then asked, 'What did you talk about?'

'She said she didn't know many people and didn't know how to get a drink.' Ruggieri said. When Brunetti made no comment, he went on, 'So I had to ask her if I could bring her one. After all, what else is a gentleman to do?' Brunetti remained silent, and Ruggieri said hurriedly, 'It didn't seem polite to ask her how it was she didn't know people there. But it did cross my mind.'

'Of course,' Brunetti agreed, quite as though it were a situation in which he often found himself. He put an attentive look on his face and waited.

'She wanted a vodka and orange juice, and I asked her if she were old enough to have one.'

Brunetti conjured a smile. 'And she said?' he asked.

'That she was eighteen, and if I didn't believe her, she'd find someone else who would.'

Imitating a look he had often seen on the face of his mother's aunt Anna, Brunetti brought his lips together in a tiny moue of disapproval. Beside him, Pucetti shifted in his seat.

'Not a very polite answer,' Brunetti said primly.

Ruggieri ran a hand through his dark hair and gave a weary shrug. 'It's what we get from them today, I'm afraid. Just because they're old enough to vote and drink doesn't mean they know how to behave.'

Brunetti found it interesting that Ruggieri again remarked on her age.

'Avvocato,' Brunetti began with every sign of reluctance, 'the reason I asked you to come in and talk with us is that you've been said to have given her some pills.'

'I beg your pardon?' Ruggieri said, sounding puzzled. Then he gave an easy smile meant to include Brunetti and added, 'I've been said to have done many things.'

Smiling nervously in return, Brunetti went on, 'The girl – I'm sure you've read – was taken to the hospital. The Carabinieri questioned a number of people and were told you'd been speaking to a girl wearing a green dress.'

'Who were they?' Ruggieri's voice was sharp.

Brunetti held up both hands in a gesture bespeaking weakness. 'I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to tell you, Avvocato.'

'So people are free to lie about me and I can't even defend myself against them?'

'I'm sure there will be a time for that, Signore,' Brunetti said, leaving it to the lawyer to work out when that might be.

Ignoring Brunetti's answer, Ruggieri asked, 'What else did they say?'

Brunetti shifted in his chair and crossed his legs. 'I'm not at liberty to say that, either, Signore.'

Ruggieri looked away and studied the wall, as though there might be some other person hiding behind it. 'I hope they said something about the girl.'

'What about her?'

'The way she was all over me,' Ruggieri said angrily, the first strong emotion he'd shown since they entered the room.

'Well, someone did say that her behaviour was, er, forward,' Brunetti answered, letting the word stumble out.

'That's putting it mildly,' Ruggieri said and sat up straighter in his chair. 'She was leaning against me. That was after I brought her the drink. Then she started to move to the music, against my leg. She put the glass – it was chilled from the ice – between her breasts. They were almost hanging out of her dress.' Ruggieri sounded indignant at the shamelessness of youth.

'I see, I see,' Brunetti said. He was conscious of the tension mounting in Pucetti beside him. The junior officer had recently questioned a young man accused of violence against his girlfriend and had produced a report that was professionally neutral.

'Did she say anything to you, Signore?'

Ruggieri considered this, started to speak, stopped, then went on. 'She told me she was hot because of me.' He paused to let the other men understand fully. 'Then she asked if there was some place we could go, just the two of us.'

'Good heavens,' said an astonished Brunetti. 'What did you tell her?'

'I wasn't interested. That's what I told her. I don't like it when it's that easy to get.' Seeing Brunetti's nod of agreement, the lawyer went on, 'And no matter what these people told you, I don't know anything about any pills.'

'Was the girl you talked to wearing a green dress?' Brunetti asked.

Eventually, the lawyer gave a boyish smile and answered, 'She might have been. I was looking at her tits, not the dress.'

Brunetti felt Pucetti's reaction. To cover the young man's slow intake of breath, he slapped his hand to his mouth and failed to stifle his appreciative chuckle.

Ruggieri smiled broadly and, perhaps encouraged by it, said, 'I suppose I could have taken her somewhere and done her, but it was hardly worth the effort. Nice tits, but she was a stupid cow.'

Brunetti and Pucetti had learned an hour before the interview that the girl had died in the hospital earlier that morning. The immediate cause of death was an asthma attack; the presence in her blood of Ecstasy provided another. Beside him, Brunetti heard the rough grind of the feet of Pucetti's chair against the cement floor of the interrogation room. From the corner of his left eye, he saw Pucetti's legs pull back as the young man got ready to stand.

Fear of what would happen gripped Brunetti's heart, and his left arm shot up as a low grunt escaped him. This changed to a sharp whining sound that rose up the scale as if forced out by pain. Brunetti lunged crookedly to his feet, gasping for breath while pumping out the tortured whine.

The two other men froze in shock and stared at him. Brunetti pivoted to his left, propelled by a force that shifted his entire body. Arm still raised above his head, he collapsed towards Pucetti, his arm crashing down on Pucetti's shoulder as the young officer rose from his chair.

Self-protection, perhaps, forced Brunetti's hand to grab at Pucetti's collar and yank the younger man towards him. Pucetti automatically braced his left palm flat on the table, arm straight, elbow locked, and took Brunetti's weight as it fell across him. He turned and wrapped his right arm around the Commissario's chest, steadied him, and started to lower him to the floor, fighting down his panic.

Pucetti shouted to Ruggieri, 'Go and get help!' From his place above Brunetti, feeling for his heartbeat, Pucetti saw the other man's legs and feet under the table: they did not move.

'But there's nothing —' Ruggieri started to say, but Pucetti cut him off and screamed again, 'Get help!' The legs moved; the door opened and closed.

Pucetti leaned down over his superior, who lay on his back, eyes closed, breathing normally. 'Commissario, Commissario, can you hear me? What's wrong? What happened?'

Brunetti's eyes snapped open and he looked into Pucetti's.

'Are you all right, Commissario?' Pucetti asked, struggling for calm.

In an entirely normal voice, as if making a point about proper procedure, Brunetti asked, 'Do you know what would have happened to your career if you'd attacked him?'

CHAPTER 2

Pucetti pulled himself back from the supine man. 'What do you mean?' he asked.

'You were about to grab him, weren't you?' Brunetti demanded, making no attempt to temper his reproach.

Pucetti was silent, his eyes still on the perfectly relaxed Brunetti. He struggled for speech, but it took him some time to achieve it. 'The girl's dead, and he's talking like that,' he finally sputtered. 'He can't do that. It's not decent. Someone should slap his mouth shut.'

'Not you, Pucetti,' Brunetti said sharply, propping himself up on his elbow. 'It's not your job to teach him manners. It's to treat him with respect because he's a citizen and he hasn't been formally accused of any crime.' Brunetti thought for a moment and corrected himself. 'Or even if he'd been accused of a crime.' Pucetti's face was rigid. Brunetti didn't know if it was from resentment or embarrassment and didn't care. 'Do you understand that, Pucetti?'

'Sì, Signore,' the younger man said and pushed himself to his feet.

'Not so fast,' Brunetti stopped him; he'd heard the sound of approaching voices. Seeing Pucetti's confusion, he added, 'You heard what he said when he was leaving, didn't you, that there was nothing wrong with me.'

'No, sir,' Pucetti answered.

'It's what he started to say before you shouted at him again.' The voices grew nearer. 'Get back down here and put your palms on my chest and give me CPR, for God's sake.'

Blank-faced and looking lost, Pucetti did what he was ordered and knelt beside Brunetti, who lay back down and closed his eyes. Pucetti put one palm on Brunetti's chest, his other palm on top of it, and started to press, counting out the seconds in a low voice.

'He's in there,' Ruggieri said from the corridor.

Brunetti opened his eyes to slits and saw two pairs of uniformed legs come through the door, followed closely by the dark grey slacks of Ruggieri's suit. 'What's going on?' came the voice of Lieutenant Scarpa.

Pucetti suspended his counting, but not the rhythmic pressure, and answered, 'I think it's his heart, Lieutenant,' then went back to counting out the seconds.

'An ambulance is coming,' Scarpa said. Brunetti saw the other uniformed legs turn to the side, and Scarpa said, 'Go down and wait for it. Bring them up here.' The legs turned and left the room.

'What happened?' Scarpa asked.

'I thought he was going to attack me,' Ruggieri began, 'but then he stood up and fell against him.' Brunetti realized this confusion of pronouns was unlikely to make any sense to the Lieutenant, so he closed his eyes and started to pant softly in rhythm with the pressure of Pucetti's hands.

Brunetti heard footsteps move to the end of the table and then approach. 'Has he had heart trouble before?' the Lieutenant asked.

'I don't know, Lieutenant. Vianello might.'

After a long silence, Scarpa said, 'You want me to take over?' Brunetti was glad his eyes were closed. He kept on panting.

'No, sir. I've got the rhythm going.'

'All right.'

The approaching two-beat of the ambulance's siren slipped into Brunetti's consciousness. Good Lord, what had he done? He'd hoped to create a momentary distraction to stop Pucetti from attacking the man, but things had got out of control entirely, and now he was on the floor with Pucetti feigning CPR and Lieutenant Scarpa offering to help.

Would they try to find Vianello? Or call Paola? She'd been asleep when he left that morning, so they hadn't spoken.

He hadn't considered the consequences of his behaviour, had done the first thing he thought would save Pucetti. He could have blamed it on not having slept last night, or having slept too much, because of what he'd eaten or not eaten. Too much coffee, no coffee. But he'd gone too far by falling against Pucetti. And here they were, and here was the ambulance crew.

Footsteps, noise, Pucetti gone, different hands, mask over his nose and mouth, hands under his ankles and shoulders, stretcher, ambulance, siren, the calming up and down of motion on the water, slow slide into the dock, bumbling about, transfer to a harder surface, the sound of wheels on marble floors as he was rolled through the hospital. He peeked through slitted eyes and saw the automatic doors and huge red cross of Pronto Soccorso.

Inside, he was wheeled quickly past Reception and parked alongside the wall of a corridor. After some time, he heard footsteps approach. Someone slipped a pillow under his head while another person put something around his wrist, a blanket was placed over him and pulled to his waist, and then the footsteps moved away.

Brunetti lay still for minutes, eyes tightly closed until he remembered he had to think of a way to put an end to this. He couldn't jump up and pretend to be Lazarus, nor could he push the blanket aside and step down from the bed, saying he had to get back to work. He lay still and waited. He lapsed into something approaching sleep and was awakened by movement. He opened his eyes and saw that he was in a small examination room, a white-uniformed nurse lowering the sides of his rolling bed. Before he could ask her anything, she left the room.

Very shortly after this, a woman wearing a white jacket entered the room and approached his bedside without speaking. Their eyes met and she nodded. He noticed that she carried a plastic folder. She reached out her hand and touched his, turned it over, and felt for his pulse. She looked at her watch, made a note in the file, then peeled down his lower eyelid, still saying nothing. He stared ahead.

'Can you hear me?' she asked.

Brunetti thought it wiser to nod than to speak.

'Do you feel any pain?'

He looked up at the woman, saw her nametag, but the angle prevented him from reading it.

'A little,' he whispered.

She was about his age, dark-haired. Her skin was dry, her eyes weary and wary.

'Where?'

'My arm,' he said, having a vague memory that one sign of a heart attack was pain in one of the arms; the left, he thought.

The woman made a note. After a moment, she turned away from him and slipped the file into a clear plastic holder attached to the top rail of his bed.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Earthly Remains"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Donna Leon and Diogenes Verlag AG, Zurich.
Excerpted by permission of Grove Atlantic, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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